


And I'll Save the Worst for Last

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: F/M, UST, newsflash Alvin is a jerk, obligatory drinking fic, sort of gen sort of not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prior to the party infiltrating Fennmont, Alvin and Milla share some drinks and (somewhat) open thoughts. Alvin/Milla. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'll Save the Worst for Last

"How about a drink? Tell ya what -- just this once, it's on me."

"..."

"What? Can't a man knock a few back with his client? My intentions are nothing but pure, if you're wondering."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but alcohol lacks nutritional value and has no advantageous influence on the body -- quite the opposite, in fact. I simply don't see the need."

Alvin made a show of sighing in response to that, his broad shoulders sagging as he looked positively exasperated. "Sure, it's not gonna give you strong bones or make you grow tall, but it's not like you need any of that, right?" He held up his empty glass and leaned back against the bar counter. "Besides, books don't mention what it's really meant to treat -- _stress_ ," he clarified, when Milla tilted her head in question. "Long day? Nagging girlfriend? Still waiting to get paid for a job and all the interest it's stacked up? There's no problem a good drink can't at least take the edge off of."

"Hmm..." Milla crossed her arms, considerate. "And how does one differentiate between 'taking the edge off' and possessing an alcohol addiction?"

"Wha... wait--"

"I've read that many alcoholics don't recognize the extent of their illness," she explained in that usual calm, apathetic tone of hers, "although in the worst cases they lack all--"

"I'm _not_ an alcoholic!" A few heads turned their way at Alvin's retort, so he lowered his voice a bit. "You're only reading the cut-and-dry stuff! When's the last time you picked up a magazine instead of an encyclopedia?" Sheesh, no wonder she was lacking on the street-smart side of things. He waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. I'm offering goodwill, not asking you to get wasted -- and surely the great Lord Maxwell can handle something so trivial, am I right?"

Ignoring the obvious issue that her body was currently bound by very human limits, but that was neither here nor there for his argument.

Again, Milla seemed to take his words to heart. "...It is true that humans have historically shared in the consumption of alcohol as a mutual sign of fellowship and camaraderie." She studied him openly, looking a few shades skeptical. "Another peace offering of yours?"

"...More like an apology, I guess, if you're gonna make me be all direct," said Alvin wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Although I was trying to be more subtle about it."

For a moment Milla continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable, and he was sure she was about to make some judgment call on human behavior or something. Finally, however, she only nodded -- and almost smiled, even. Maybe. "Very well. I will join you."

\- - - 

It turned out that the Lord of Spirits wasn't mightier than such a thing, after all.

Alvin had ordered her some fruity thing that he would never have touched himself (it seemed light and feminine enough, and had been one of Presa's favorites), and while Milla voiced her distaste at the start, she nonetheless (impressively) drank it down.

And so it came out that she was every bit the lightweight that she appeared.

"I highly doubt that's the case," she was arguing, her tone flat and collected despite the tilt to her words. She was seated a stool over and half-hunched over the bar, cheek propped in her hand.

"Pfft" was Alvin's elegant response. He was definitely loosened up by now, although not in the realm of officially drunk; he knew how to handle his whiskey. "Yeah, sure," he shot back with a sidelong grin. "Because that outfit's so modest. You totally see ladies everywhere going out to fight like that. Y'know. At a pool party."

" _It's unrestricted,_ " Milla pressed, something almost like a pout slipping into her voice. "I specific'ly asked Ivar for something that would be easy t'move in. For your information, I can't imagine anything being more comfortable than this."

"Heh." Tossing back the last of his drink, Alvin brought the glass down on the bar with a _thud_ of finality. "Okay, but that's beside the point. The _point_ ," he added, seeing her about to question, "bein' that your hand _maid_ is still very much a hand _guy_ , and he's obviously not exactly shy about that fact."

Milla stared off into space for a short pause, and then suddenly made a chortling sound. "What's a 'handguy?'" she asked.

"Y'know what I meant -- it's just a..." Actually, it did sound pretty stupid in hindsight. "...Heh. I don't know. It made sense at the time."

"Interesting. Is that a... psychological effect of the alcohol we've ingested?"

"Bad jokes? Can be. Not the worst thing that could happen, but I'll be responsible enough for both of us." Alvin noticed her stare lingering and met it. "What?"

Still smiling slightly, Milla shook her head. "This is probably the most relaxed I've ever seen you."

"Am I usually uptight or somethin'?"

"No..." She looked past the bar to settle her absent gaze on the wall. "Usually you're very closed off. Even when you appear to be at ease and open with us, I frequently feel as though you're holding back, somehow." Straightening up on her stool, Milla glanced at him. "Perhaps I'm mistaken, or you're intentionally trying to give me this impression... but you seem much less guarded now."

It was Alvin's turn to fall silent, and he also looked away to break eye contact. He actually hadn't been trying to lead her, not this time. Sure, they'd joked and traded a few harmless stories for the last hour, but he hadn't thought he was any more open than usual. Avoiding that very scenario was one more reason he'd been careful to count his glasses.

" 'Zat so?" he asked finally.

"You're still the same as usual," Milla clarified. "Otherwise I would suspect you were acting. It's just something about your appearance, I believe. Your smile, maybe; it looks more... genuine."

"Heh. Better watch myself around you, huh." Despite Alvin's intention, it didn't come out sounding like a joke.

Milla didn't have to say anything this time; her blank expression was enough. "Perhaps you should." Their gazes met and held, equally unreadable. After a moment, she broke the stalemate by sliding off her stool and onto her feet. "I should retire," she announced coolly. "Thank you for the drinks, Alvin."

"My pleasure." He dropped a few coins on the bar as he stood, and since they were headed the same way he made an extravagant _After you_ gesture in her direction.

It was late, so there was no crowd to shuffle through like there would have been a couple hours ago. They reached and then climbed the stairs without comment, and while Alvin was of course careful not to make his glances obvious, he noticed that there were some subtle differences to Milla's movements compared to normal: she took the stairs a little slower, her back wasn't quite as straight, and sometimes her steps wandered just slightly.

Idly, he wondered if that would be enough to get the upper hand on her. He did, of course, have his gun concealed in his coat... but at the moment he had no outstanding reason to kill her. Not to mention a gunshot would have awoken both floors and made his getaway pretty difficult.

He was just about to take the next corner to the guys' shared room and peacefully part ways with her, even wish her goodnight, when Milla managed to trip over her own unsteady feet.

To Alvin's credit, it was simply chivalrous reflex that made him move to catch her, and he only intended to grab her shoulders and steady her -- but as soon as he stepped into her personal bubble, Milla turned in a surprising display of speed, all things considered, and caught hold of his arm in one hand and his collar in the other, both in a strong grip as if to stop him. It was firm and sudden enough that she managed to pull him with her partway as she kept falling; her back hit the wall, and she was all but caught with Alvin against her front.

He'd recovered soon enough that he didn't do anything as clumsy as fall on her, his free hand shooting out over her head to brace himself against the wall, but he hadn't made much of an effort to pull back. Now he looked coolly and casually down at her, and the tolerably cheery attitude he'd been keeping up previously fell away.

"Getting frisky again? I should've taken you drinking a long time ago."

Milla's eyes narrowed slightly, but they were clear. "Forgive me if I jumped to the wrong conclusion just now, but as you yourself said, I can't ever fully trust you."

Alvin stared at her, and then gave a cheeky laugh as realization dawned. "You faked being tipsy. Cute."

"Not entirely," she admitted. "But I figured that doing so would present you with a perfect opportunity, were you truly after my life."

"Never crossed my mind, honestly. But what if I was?"

Milla didn't reply, but her stony look was once again answer enough. Alvin chuckled, tilting his head so that she wasn't pulling on his neck so hard. Coincidentally, it caused him to lean in a bit closer. "Sounds like something you'd do," he remarked as his voice dropped. "One of these days I'll learn to stop underestimating you."

"When that day comes, I might well have to worry."

"Ouch. When it does, I can at least look forward to some of this private time again, right?"

Again, Milla was silent, but this time she looked more attentive, somehow, or even vaguely thoughtful. Alvin arched an eyebrow, but she spoke before he could. "...Amazing. Those drinks of yours really do impart strange psychological effects."

Despite himself, Alvin couldn't help his curiosity. "Meaning?"

"Make no mistake, I haven't once felt any degree of physical attraction towards you," she said evenly.

"Oh, gee, thanks."

"And yet just now I experienced a heightened awareness of our current contact and proximity. It's not unlike the effects of adrenaline, except that it seems much more psychological and unpleasant. I believe 'lust' may be the term for this sensation."

It was all said in that same naive, cut-and-dry voice of hers that Alvin had grown so used to -- and yet right then, either because of the "strange psychological effects" of his drink, or the fact that she was talking about feeling a little hot for him, or both, she might as well have been purring all that into his ear. For a moment he stared at her, surprise meeting indifference.

And then his usual smooth lines failed him. "...And?" he said finally, unsure if she had a reason for telling him that. Then again, it was Milla; chances were she was just fascinated by experiencing something new and had spoken without thinking -- or without knowing better.

"And... I have this irrational curiosity as to what it would feel like to touch you in a more intimate manner. More specifically, to kiss you, as I believe that is a common method of displaying intimacy," she concluded in the same unruffled apathy.

...

Well, then.

Ducking his head just long enough to let out an uncertain laugh, Alvin met her calm, unwavering gaze again a second later. Liar by trade that he was, it briefly crossed his mind that it was another trick of some sort, but he dismissed it. Milla, at least, had nothing to gain from something like that. She was much more direct.

And, well, that wasn't always a bad thing.

"Enlighten me, Lord Maxwell, because I've been getting mixed signals over here." The good humor in his tone faded again, but there was still a suggestive hint of it as he inquired, "Is that an order from my client?"

"Merely an observation," Milla remarked, although she hadn't looked away and she was still holding him firmly in place. At this point his arm was probably bruised.

"I thought it was more of a hint, myself... Then again, I'm just pretty darn perceptive."

"Is that so."

"What, don't you know me by now?"

"I do. Which is why I would hate to send more 'mixed signals' -- especially any that might falsely suggest full mutual trust."

Alvin chuckled and leaned in even closer... past her, to speak almost against her ear. "Here's a bonus lesson on humans: when it's two people like you and me, who are just gonna walk away and forget about it a day later... trust has nothing to do with it."

He drew back slowly, but not fully, and met her watchful eyes again. If Milla dismissed it once more, he'd back off; backstabbing, threatening, and even killing her were all well within his limits of indecency, but pushing himself on her was not.

She watched him indifferently for a few more heartbeats. "A human sentiment? Or just one of yours?"

"Both," he answered easily.

Again, she gave him the silent treatment -- but then those bright eyes of hers drifted down a few inches. When she didn't look up right away, Alvin, of course ever the gentleman, broke the ice by leaning in further. He stopped just short, watching her for a sign, but she still hadn't raised her eyes. She wasn't making any moves, either, but then again she probably didn't know how this worked, anyway.

Encouraged by not being discouraged, Alvin moved to close that last hint of distance between their mouths, already feeling her warm, even breath against his skin--

"How unfortunate for you, then, that I'm not human," said Milla abruptly. She turned her head away as she spoke, but there was still the faintest touch of her lips ghosting against his there at the start. She gave Alvin a grace period of about half a second before pushing him away, firmly enough to suggest no second thoughts, and he didn't try to resist. Hands up in casual surrender, he took two easy steps back.

"My loss, huh? Guess so." He smiled at her, edging on a smirk. "But if you ever wanna play human after all, just drop another hint."

Without a word or even a shift in that maddeningly cool expression, Milla turned and continued on, and then disappeared into her room a little further down. She didn't once look back.

Once certain that he was alone, Alvin sighed and leaned his head back into his hands. "Makes you wonder if she'd be easier to deal with if she'd picked a male body," he said to no one in particular. Unsurprisingly, the ceiling had nothing to offer on that thought.

Arms falling back to his sides, Alvin went his own way -- but not before mumbling an answer to his own proposition. "Eh, maybe. But what fun would that be?"


End file.
